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have moved toward war. The Abbot has issued a formal declaration that the
Crown encroaches so far upon the authority of the Church that all folk of good
conscience should resist their King and Queen as tyrants. He has absolved the
barons from their oaths of fealty, and summoned them to attack Their Majesties
in force. Four Southern barons have answered his call, with all their knights and
men. Three Northern lords have brought their armies to Tuan. The other five
lords claim the conflict is no concern of theirs, but is only between the Church
and Crown; they therefore stand ne,u-tral.' "
"Ready to jump in and take over when the other barons have torn each other, and
the Crown, apart," Rod growled.
There was time for it; Gwen had paused, eyes glazed, lips parted, waiting. Now
she spoke again. " 'FCC robot number 651919, transmitting on human-thought
frequency, near the Gate through which the Gallowglass family disappeared, in
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an attempt to contact them. Though I think it extremely unlikely that the Gate
will re-transmit my signal into another universe, I must attempt it. Situation
report: The agents responsible for your exile attempted to turn off the transmitter
and close the Gate& ' " She blinked, eyes focusing again. "He repeats himself."
Rod nodded. "Faithful old Fess, standing twenty-four-hour watch at the Gate,
trying somehow to reach us. He probably doesn't even realize Gregory's his
transmission link. Just keeps repeating the message over and over, hoping
against hope and updating the situation report, of course."
Father Al nodded. "I was wondering when you'd get around to confirming that
your horse was a robot."
Rod jerked his head impatiently. "No point in giving away information, is there?
Though I might as well have; you do a very nice job of putting together
comments I've dropped here and there." He turned to Gwen. "Did you reassure
him?"
She nodded. "As well as I could that we still do live, and will come home."
"But not when." Rod's mouth tightened. "Well, you do have to at least try to be
honest with a child." He looked up. "And with ourselves. The situation at home
just keeps getting worse, and here we stick!"
"Thou didst say, husband, that even should it come to open war, our babe will
not be endangered."
"Yeah, probably not but even two percent sounds like too high a probability,
when we're talking about our own baby! Come on, Gwen, let's get out of here
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and return this infant to his rightful parents, so we can get busy collecting the
favor his father owes us a quick burst of magic that'll send us back to
Gramarye. If he can do it. Let's go." He turned away to the doorway, looking
about him, frowning. "Magnus and Geoff and Elidor stayed outside, eh?"
He stepped through the doorway, and saw his sons lying unconscious at the feet
of soldiers dressed in the Duke's livery.
Then something exploded on the back of his head, and he just had time for one
quick thought, before the stars wiped out the scene:
Of course. The Duke kept some forces in reserve for an ambush, just in case we
did show up&
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When he saw the light of day again, it was golden-orange, and dim. Turning a
head that seemed as large as an asteroid and rang at the slightest touch, he saw
the reason for the dimness a tiny window, barred, and up near the low ceiling.
Turning his head again in spite of the pain, he saw walls of rough-hewn rock,
damp and splotched with fungus.
He levered himself up on his elbows. Consciousness tried to slide away again,
but he hauled it back. Little Geoff huddled next to him, curled into a ball.
Beyond him, Father Al sat gravely watching.
They were both shackled to the wall by four-foot lengths of heavy chain.
"Good afternoon, my friend," the priest said softly.
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Geoff's head snapped up. He saw Rod's eyes open, and threw his arms around his
neck. "Papa!" He began to cry.
"There, there, now, son," Rod soothed. Chains clanked as he wrapped his arms
around Geoff. "Papa's all right. It'll be okay." He looked up at Father Al.
"Where're Gwen and Cordelia and Magnus?"
"In a room like this one, I'd guess. The soldiers carrying them split off one floor
up; I gather they've two layers of dungeons here."
"You were conscious."
"By then I was, yes." Father Al fingered a bruise in the middle of his tonsure. He
had several more on his forehead and cheeks, and there was clotted blood around
his nostrils. "It wasn't much of a fight. Your wife stepped out just as you started
to crumble, and they caught her on the back of the head with a cudgel; she was
out before she could do anything. Your little daughter and I made something of a
try the air was quite thick with flying stones for a few minutes there, till a
soldier caught her from behind with a pike-butt. For myself, I found a reasonably
solid stick, and actually managed to lay out a couple of them, myself." He
sounded surprised.
"Which lost you your clergy's right to not get hit." Rod found his respect for
Father Al going up still more, while dull anger grew at the bastards who'd struck
his wife and daughter and clouted a priest, besides!
He took Geoff by the shoulders and held him back a little. "Try to stop crying,
son. I've got to check you over. Where does it hurt?"
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Geoff pointed to his head, and Rod fingered the spot gently there was a large
goose-egg. Geoff winced as he probed, but didn't cry out; and the bone didn't
give when he pressed it. Good. "Look at me, son." He stared into Geoff's eyes
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